


The Sun

by heckate



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Dark Magic, F/F, Post-Episode s06e22 Grave, Redemption, Witchcraft, magic addiction, post-season 6
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-03
Updated: 2021-03-07
Packaged: 2021-03-14 14:00:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29172285
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/heckate/pseuds/heckate
Summary: After the death of her lover, Willow gave into the darkness in her power and embarked on a rather disastrous killing spree. So, with two murders under her belt, a whole lotta guilt, and a whole lot more power and no way to control it, she was sent to England with Giles to train with a powerful coven. Now, three months after losing her mind, she almost feels like Willow again. Still, she's got a long way to go.
Relationships: Tara Maclay/Willow Rosenberg
Comments: 5
Kudos: 14





	1. The Hand

**Author's Note:**

> Starts off 3 months after the end of Season 6 and then takes us into an AU Season 7 that basically ignores canon but tries to stay true to the spirit of the series. Enjoy!

A closed fist flew through the air and landed forcefully against a soft blocking pad. The man holding the pads, one in each hand, held his ground, though, unperturbed by the force as he’d trained in this way hundreds of times with his Slayer.

But this wasn’t his Slayer. The young woman before him was sloppier, her attacks angrier. There was a scowl on her face, focused, intensely so, but something about the pout on her lips told him she wasn’t exactly enjoying the fight.

She was so focused, in fact, strands of sweaty red hair sticking to her face, that she failed to notice Giles bend his knee, a nefarious move, lifting his foot and tripping his opponent, sending her to the ground.

She lay there in defeat for a moment, supine on the grass and watching the cloudy English sky. Giles dropped his pads, chuckling as he reached his hand down to her.

“Okay,” said Willow, “So I’m not Buffy.”

“You’re not,” said Giles as she took his hand and he heaved her up, “You’ve improved immensely, though. When we got here you couldn’t do a pushup.”

“I hate this,” said Willow, panting as she wiped her sweaty forehead on her shirt, not particularly self-conscious that Giles might see her bare torso underneath (though he did look away), “My least favorite class in high school was Gym. I mean, that’s ‘cause all the learning classes were my favorites. But still.”

“You are learning,” said Giles, “Your mind and your body. You’re building up instinct. Muscle memory.”

“But that was the whole point of the magic. And the research and the computer stuff. Helpful without all of… this.” She flexed her rather mediocre but still toned biceps dramatically; comically.

“Willow, we’ve discussed this. Miss Harkness has explained it to you dozens of times.”

“I know,” said Willow, “And I  _ understand _ it. I just don’t like it.”

“You have a very strong spirit but you’ve ignored the rest of yourself,” said Giles, “A witch must create a balance. You need a strong body, mind, and heart. All of it.”

“And the mind thing is great. You know, ‘go school’. Even witchy coven school,” said Willow, as Giles held up the pads again and she went back to work, “And the heart thing, understanding good and bad and light and dark and stuff. I mean, obviously I need that. Being all evil and everything.” She punched especially hard, then, enough that Giles actually stumbled back, “But this stuff? The training and the workouts? I don’t think I’ll ever be used to it. I don’t know how Buffy does it. I’m all tired and achy.”

“You can’t use magic without a strong body, Willow,” Giles said, “It drains you. You’ll wither away. Remember that light magicks always have a price.”

“Dark magicks too. Just, uh, hit harder and hit later. Ugh.” Willow tried to blow away a strand of hair that had fallen in front of her eye without halting her assault, “It’s just, y’know. These are supposed to be the good magicks.”

“Even with the lightest of magicks you must be careful,” Giles said, “The sun is light, too, but if you stare at it too long you will go blind.”

Willow nodded, wondering if Giles came up with his wisdoms on the spot or if he practiced them in front of the mirror at night. Catching her distraction, Giles tripped her a second time and she hit the grass with an  _ oof _ .

“Okay,” she wheezed, “Can I be done?”

“I guess that’s enough for today,” said Giles, moving to help her up again.

Willow rejected his hand and stood herself, “It’s hard.”

“You’re too focused on your hands, Willow,” said Giles, “Your whole body is a weapon and your whole body needs to be defended, but you are only looking at your hands. That’s how I keep tripping you.”

“I know. It’s just—you know, I don’t shoot fireballs from my knees. My hands have always been where the magic is. The power. Me. Even with a computer keyboard. It’s all in my fingers.”

“Remember,” said Giles, “Your legs are what’s connected to the Earth. Focus on them too. On your connection.”

“I think that’s the problem,” Willow said, picking up her shoes and a small backpack, “My feet are so distracted. I can feel, like, all the bugs and the worms and the dandelions and stuff. But Ms. Harkness wants me not to wear my shoes and that makes it way louder.”

“No, that’s good, Willow,” said Giles as the two started walking in a direction, “Keep strengthening your connection to the Earth. That’s the point—strengthening your body helps keep you grounded. This is all about the Earth, if we do this right the Earth won’t let you—”

“—Destroy it?” Willow asked, “Right. Got it.”

“The Earth won’t let you lose control. It’s the strongest anchor out there, Willow.”

Tara had been her anchor. There was a silence, one filled with a sereness masking a fear. Willow’s bare feet led the way on the soft grass, Giles following slowly.

“Where are you going?” Giles asked.

“What?” said Willow, “I was following you.”

“Willow, you’re walking ahead of me.”

“Oh,” she paused, “I… I was following  _ something _ .”

“Something in the Earth?”

“I guess.” She breathed and closed her eyes for a moment, cocking her head curiously to the side as she opened them again, “That tree over there. There’s death in it, I think.”

They started to wander over to it, and Willow thought she heard a whisper.

The tree was nothing special, a large one though Willow wasn’t botanical enough to identify it. They searched its base and sure enough they found in the dirt a mangled baby bird that had fallen from its nest, too eager to fly. “Poor thing,” said Giles.

“Wait,” Willow said, shutting her eyes again, forcefully, this time, “It’s not dead. Not yet. I think…”

She bent down, eyes still closed. She cupped the bird in her hands, muttered something under her breath and when she opened her hands again the bird had healed. She smiled tiredly, flexing her fingers and telekinetically sending the creature back to its nest hidden in the leaves.

She sighed, leaning on Giles, “All this white magic. It takes so much out of me. I feel weak.”

“Look what you just did. It’s worth the price. That’s why we’re keeping your body strong. And your mind and your heart. So you can pay these prices without falling back on old habits.”

“You’re right,” said Willow. And in that moment, despite her tiredness, with the noise of the Earth in her bare feet and the buzz of power in her fingers, the blues and greens and grays of the English countryside in her eyes and the chirping of birds reunited with their young in her ears, she felt so content that she thought she never wanted to leave. “Thanks, Giles. You know, for everything.”

“Let’s go,” Giles said, steadying Willow as they turned the other way, “I think there’s tea at the house.”


	2. Recap

It was three months ago that Willow had tried to destroy the world. Three months since she became consumed by her own power, and three months since the love of her life had been shot through the heart. It was three months of healing, though it had been extraordinarily painful.

Indeed, she had been expected to put in an effort and an energy that she just couldn't muster. "Just kill me! Or take my powers. Please, I can't do this," she'd said to the head of the coven, Miss Harkness, when they'd first met, "I don't want this power. There's no point without Tara, anyway. Please."

Those first few days since it all happened were foggy in her mind at best. She could hardly remember flying to England, or staying at Giles' apartment in Sunnydale the night before. She'd been confused, Giles had told her, and she deduced from his much kinder words that she had spent those early days verifiably insane.

She did get better, at least in one sense, the fog of insanity eventually lifting and giving way to only guilt, grief, and fear. What would they do to her, she'd wondered once she became more clearly aware of her situation. She could feel the power of the coven, and it made her sick to her stomach. Her own power did, too, as it crackled inside her.

Taking her magick was the original goal, of course. The risk was huge, a good chance she'd die and another that she'd lose her mind, or spend the rest of her life a vegetable. And even if it all went according to plan, the rituals would be excruciating and they would take several weeks. It would leave her weak, confused, and in pain until the day she died.

"Yes, please take them," Willow had begged, "I... I feel it in my veins, in my fingers, and it hurts—or it wants to hurt. I don't care if I die. Please, can we try?"

So they had tried, but after the first ritual had Willow coughing up blood, temporarily blind, and babbling in insanity, Giles insisted the coven stop.

She'd been informed that killing her just wasn't an option, and even after a particularly dangerous display of the powers outside of her control nearly endangered the lives of some of the witches, Willow overheard, her abilities working unconsciously to allow her to hear the conversation in the next room, Giles simply would not have it. "If you hurt her," he'd said, "I will take her far away from here. And you'll have made enemies of the both of us." Apparently, making an enemy of Willow was so terrifying to the coven that they'd abandoned the idea of her euthanization almost immediately.

And that was how they'd come to the third option: to rehabilitate Willow, to train her to use her powers correctly and to control them responsibly. At first Willow had refused to cast. She could feel her own lack of control, could tell that the moment she let herself slip it would all come rushing out. But the abstinence started to make her sick and the buildup of power would certainly lead to another breakdown. So Giles brought her to a field where the witches started throwing magickal attacks at her until she was forced instinctually to defend herself with a spell that sent them flying against the trees.

It took her a long time, long enough that the coven began to think their efforts were never going to work. But eventually Willow started to show signs of improvement. These "lessons", as they'd called them, felt more like a reward to Willow than a punishment. It made her feel guilty. For four years, since the death of Jenny Calendar, Willow had wished for someone to teach her about magicks. She'd had that in Tara, a teacher of sorts, until she surpassed her in power, though not, she hadn't realized until it all went wrong, in knowledge.

And now an entire coven of witches was teaching her how to control her gift, her curse. She only wished she'd had them when she still wanted to use it. Once the witches got her to cast, Willow found that a wandering thought would shatter windows, a moment of anger blowing power or a bad dream lighting fires in her sleep. It was terrifying, and now she couldn't stop. So when Giles and the coven explained to her that she could control it, with work, despite her wanting nothing to do with the power again, she had agreed.

Each day she was sent to a hall, or sometimes the fields outside, to train with various witches in all the areas of magick. Just sensing, at first, reading auras (at which Tara had always excelled, though Willow was too unfocused to get the hang of it), experiencing the Earth and learning to live with everything her deep connection to the world meant she could always feel. And eventually she was floating pencils again, her frustration with the beginner task and her lack of control at first sending them clean through walls. And once she got the hang of that, she was healing plants, and then animals.

Once Miss Harkness took a blade to Willow's arm but forced her to let it heal naturally, not to give into her power, the "easy fix". And Willow had really tried, but when she'd glanced under the bandage hours later, there hadn't even been a scratch. Three more times the witch had sliced Willow's arm, Willow healing herself unconsciously or in her sleep. But the fourth time, she'd done it—a small scar as proof, like a token, or a gold star sticker. It was a huge step for her, resisting the urge to heal herself and her powers listening when she said "no".

Sometimes her control slipped. And she could tell, with the way the witches looked at her, that they were afraid of it. Of her. Tiptoeing, she knew, for if they said the wrong words, and sometimes they did, her eyes would turn black, the pain that she felt in the Earth would turn the loudest. And sometimes she felt like the only thing keeping her from destroying the witches and then the world was some inexplicable voice in the back of her head.

In each of her "lessons" several other witches would be present, ready to take her on in case she lost control. She wore bracelets, made of some old leather, enchanted, that would allow the coven to temporarily bind her powers at a moment's notice. Like a leash, she figured. Like she was a wild animal. And it was something they used liberally, the binding, especially at first, whenever she turned irrational or when her magicks were controlling her more than she was controlling them. Whenever her eyes went black or a stray thought flickered a lightbulb. Sometimes she would beg them to bind her, and sometimes she would beg them not to. It was agonizing, painful, like being blinded by having nails hammered into your eyes.

But less and less frequently this needed to happen, as she started to grasp control. And fewer and fewer witches were present at her lessons to guard her until it was just she and her teachers.

Eventually it was Miss Harkness herself who taught her combat magick. "Why do I need this?" Willow had asked, terrified to conjure her first fireball in months, "I don't need magic for violence. I don't want to hurt anyone." But Miss Harkness had explained to her that she couldn't pick and choose which areas of her magicks she wanted to develop, and that if she didn't practice using the most dangerous parts of her powers then she would never have control over them.

The lessons were unexpected, considering that Willow had figured she would be killed or worse when Giles took her from Sunnydale. But what surprised her most about the last three months was everything else, besides the magick. Members of the coven acted as tutors and taught her histories and sciences that her public school education had completely ignored, things her teachers and her professors probably didn't even know. She learned about planets and physics and the universe, plants and animals and ancient civilizations. The history of magick itself. It was all fascinating to her, and she felt guilty about how much fun she was having.

She was taught philosophy and morality, and felt childish when she was forced to do things like write letters to her friends that would never be sent or draw pictures of people she loved. All, apparently, to train her heart and to lighten her soul. They had her meditate, taught her to acknowledge her darkness but not to use it.

And then there was the physical stuff, which Willow had hated the most. Oh, it would have been easy for Buffy, and even Xander had gained some muscle slaying vampires and working in construction. But Willow had relied on books, computers, and magic so long that when the coven brought her to a small gym inside their complex, she wanted to run away. They put her on a training regimen that increased in rigor as she became stronger, and she hated every second. Her addiction had made her weaker, and it took all of her self-control not to magically enhance her strength and agility just to get through it. She had, in the beginning, once or twice, an accident that she mistook for her own physical improvement. They'd bound her, those times, once they'd found out. For everyone's protection, they'd said, since she wasn't in control. And Willow had agreed, though for her it felt like torture.

The hand, the heart, the mind, the spirit. The realization had dawned on her one nostalgic night, when she thought of when things were simpler. It was how they'd defeated Adam, combining their essences. And look at what had happened when one of the four got out of hand. The coven had her strengthening it all now, to keep her grounded.

These days, Willow was no longer deemed a threat, and she was allowed to use her powers with supervision. She no longer had to wear her bracelets, though she did keep one on her left wrist, for she felt safer knowing it could help her be stopped if something went wrong. She'd thought that the work would end, once she regained control. But it didn't, and any morning when she felt compelled to skip her lessons or hide from exercise Giles somehow always found her.

She lived in a room at the coven, a cozy little place with no TV or air conditioning. She could always feel the magicks here, they swirled around the grounds like winds and made their ways into Willow's nightmares. She felt self-conscious, watched, staying here with powerful witches ready to take her down at any moment. But in her first few weeks when she'd awaken to shattered windows or rising flames, casting accidentally in her tumultuous sleep, she was glad that the coven was so close, reversing her damage and binding her magicks so that she couldn't do the unthinkable.

And that was where she was tonight, three months after she lost everything. Sitting on the bed in her room, a book on her lap but her eyes glossing over the words. She couldn't get her out of her mind. Never could, but something about this night—perhaps it was the healing she'd performed earlier. Something was so Tara about it, saving a baby bird like that. She'd missed the funeral—Giles wouldn't let her stay in Sunnydale more than the night, the darkness of the place was bad for her, and she was bad for it. She was too dangerous, too insane. Had she mourned? For the first time in those three months, she went into the small front pocket of the backpack she'd brought with her from Sunnydale. She'd come with minimal belongings, a few pairs of clothes (she'd purchased more here in England) and other essentials. Nothing connected to Sunnydale. Nothing to remind her.

Except for one thing, which she'd kept through it all, through her addiction and her abstinence and through Tara's death and her journey to England. She opened the pocket carefully, as though she'd be bitten by what was inside. She peaked in, first, just to be sure, and saw glimmering in the candlelight Tara's Doll's Eye Crystal, the one that had belonged to her grandmother and that she had given to Willow. A tear escaped Willow's eye, and she thought that maybe she wasn't ready to remember Tara by mourning with the object. But that voice in her head—it told her it was okay. So she reached slowly into the bag and grasped it as if for her life.

But the moment her fingers touched it, her vision turned black. She felt something, something horrible and yet familiar. Something rising like bile in her throat. Rising into a mouth full of sharp, pointed teeth. Darkness. The opposite of what Tara had been.

She gasped, coming out of it, dropping the crystal to the floor. She wondered why she still saw black, before realizing her eyes were closed. She investigated the crystal, leaning over its position on the wood floor, not touching it for fear of what she'd seen. It had felt evil—she felt evil, and in her reflection in the crystal she saw her eyes were a deep black.

She panicked, then, clenching her fists like it would keep the power in, but when she blinked again the blackness was gone. She wondered if she'd imagined it. Nevertheless, she threw on her sheepskin jacket and picked up the crystal with her sleeve, still afraid to touch it with her skin. She stuck it in her pocket and then ran clumsily out the door.

Giles was living on the coven's property, too, sometimes visiting his own home but so overwhelmed with concern for Willow, and for what the Coven might do to her without him there to defend her, that he insisted on remaining close by. It was a cabin, a small guest house of sorts, and that's where he was now, taking a shower, feeling pride at the progress Willow had displayed for him today. And then suddenly, there was a knock on the door. Frenzied, it continued before he could respond. "Coming!" he called, pulling on a pair of pants.

"Giles!" cried the voice behind the door. It was Willow's. "Giles! Giles, please. Open the door. I'm wigged."

The franticness in her tone increased his urgency, and Giles ran for the door wearing only a pair of pants, a towel draped over his shoulders after he quickly dried his hair. He flung the door open, half-expecting a pair of evil black eyes to greet him. But all he saw was Willow, green-eyed Willow bouncing anxiously on the balls of her feet. "Willow?" he said, "What's happened?"

"Giles, I saw something," Willow explained as he guided her in. "I felt something... Sorry, were you busy?"

"Just showering. Tell me what happened."

"I don't know," Willow said, "Something just… It was dark, Giles. Whatever it was."

"Why didn't you go to one of the witches?" Giles asked.

"I, uh…" Willow hesitated guiltily, "There was so much darkness for a second there. I didn't want them to bind me. I don't think it was me, I really don't."

"I hate it when they do that to you," Giles said.

"No, I get it. They have to when I lose control. So I don't hurt anyone."

"It hurts you though," said Giles, "Doesn't it? You're doing so much better now. Still, they used to do that to you far too often."

"They're scared of me. I'm scared of me," said Willow, "I get it."

"So, your vision?"

"Not a vision. I didn't see anything, it was more like… like a feeling." said Willow, "It was the Earth. My connection, but it wasn't here. It happened when I touched this. It was her's. In my pocket."

Giles reached into the pocket in Willow's coat and held the crystal in his hands, "A Doll's Eye Crystal?"

"It's not a dark thing, Giles," Willow said, "It's light, I can sense that. But when I touched it… It wasn't the crystal, and it wasn't me. It was the Earth."

"Sunnydale," said Giles.

"What?"

"You felt Sunnydale," Giles repeated, "That is where she gave you this crystal. It is connected to Sunnydale, and you tapped into that connection."

Willow paused for a second, "Something was different," Willow said. "I know what Sunnydale feels like. This is worse. It's the Hellmouth. Something's coming, I think."

"Oh Willow," said Giles, "None of this can be easy. Fighting your own darkness while you feel that of the rest of the world. Of your home. I'm so sorry."

"Stop apologizing, Giles," said Willow, "I did this to myself."

"You didn't ask to have this much power," Giles said, "And all I did was hide books from you. I should have helped you, trained you. Maybe you wouldn't have ended up…"

"Or maybe I still would have. Maybe I'm evil."

"No, Willow," Giles said, "You know, Miss Harkness can't figure out how you got it all, your power. Not at first. If it was growing up on the Hellmouth, or your proficiency with the literature, or just happenstance."

"They resent me for that, I think," Willow said, "Here they are, practicing their whole lives. And then some twenty-two-year-old kid who read some books comes along with more power than she knows what to do with."

"You think they're jealous?"

"I don't know. Not jealous. I think they wish it was in better hands. The power, I mean."

"I'll tell them about your vision. Your, erm, feeling," Giles said, and Willow glanced up at him in worry. "I won't let them touch you. They don't enjoy binding you, Willow. They only do what they believe is necessary. They only want to help you." He cleared his throat, "Maybe one of the seers can give us more information about what you saw. Felt."

Willow nodded, attention elsewhere. She was looking at Giles' chest, still uncovered, where an angry scar in the shape of a hand marred it. Her hand.

Giles frowned when he noticed her gaze, her guilt radiating in waves. Willow's hand rose slowly, shakily as she brought it up to his sternum, where she placed it in its own imprint. The fit was perfect.

"I did that to you," Willow said.

"It's healed now," said Giles.

"No," Willow said, "I know what I did."

"It's just a scar, Willow,"

"Don't lie to me, Giles." They only stared at each other for a moment, before Willow looked back down at her hand, still on Giles' chest. She removed it slowly, and beneath it the scar had faded greatly, though it was still visible.

Giles smiled warmly at her, with some pride, but tears welled in Willow's eyes and she couldn't help but burst into hysterical tears. He cradled her in his arms and she sobbed into his scarred chest, the pair reflected warmly in the glossy surface of the Doll's Eye Crystal that sat on the bed beside them.


	3. Fireflies

Willow had chores. And it wasn’t that she didn’t like them. Indeed, in the early days she found the menial tasks hard to focus on, but now she welcomed that they took her mind off of all that was happening inside of it. And it was the least she could do, the coven putting so much aside to train and house her.

But she was never allowed to use her powers to help her with her errands. And at first it had frustrated her immensely—the horses in the stable had been downright terrified when, annoyed at the trouble her muscles (aching from her physical workouts, which she’d also hated) had shoveling animal excrement, Willow’s anger manifested itself as supernatural lightning which by some miracle didn’t strike any of the animals. The horses had freaked, and then when she could see and feel their distress, Willow, distressed in turn, then caused hay to swirl around the stable in a chaotic storm. That hadn’t been fun, and when Giles and Miss Harkness found her covered in straw, surrounded by scorched wood and horses running berserk, it had been even less fun. She’d been berated, after a thorough binding, about controlling her emotions, separating them from her magicks. Not fun.

But she’d come to appreciate her chores. Being forced to do them without her powers helped her learn control, and she liked helping out at the coven. She enjoyed caring for the animals they kept, could feel their contentment—they weren’t filled with grief and anger like all of the humans were. Giles even taught her to ride horses, but she was pretty awful at it.

Now she was working in the garden, where the witches grew herbs and flowers that they used in their spells. It was hard for her, being around the plants, some rare and some powerful, her mind endlessly considering the potions she could create and charms she could cast with each of them.

She could feel them all, their roots in the Earth, their distinct powers. She went back to work, trying to distract herself. Blocking her knowledge of the individual plants from her mind, she moved on to the next one in the long bed of dirt and mindlessly cleared some weeds from around it. But when her finger brushed against its leaf and she recognized its power, she glanced up at it, recognition sending her stumbling violently back, landing awkwardly on her bottom.

Lethe’s Bramble, she realized, its blush pink head taunting her. She was overcome with guilt, self-hatred, and fought to keep power in that was trying to escape. She felt panic at the reminder of her treachery. 

What if, she thought, she could make herself forget? Forget that any of it happened. Forget Tara, because it hurt too much to remember. She could forget how to cast, everything since she re-ensouled Angel. Then no one would have to fear her.

But that whisper in her head told her that was idiotic, dangerous. And not worth it. So Willow forgot the thought, but didn’t take her eyes off of the Bramble, watching it as though it would grow legs and attack her should she look away.

“Willow!” 

She heard the voice before she saw its owner, and she was so startled that she felt some power shoot from her fingertips into the ground below her. Some of the younger plants grew, stood straighter. And the Lethe’s Bramble withered and died before her eyes. She hoped he hadn’t noticed.

“Willow,” Giles said again, jogging up to meet her as she turned to face him, “You missed your training.”

“I’m doing chores.”

“Now, Willow,” said Giles, “You can’t get lax about any of this.”

“I don’t feel good.”

“Willow…”

“Later.”

Giles sighed at that, his mouth a thin line. Willow stood, then, leaving her trowel and her spade in the dirt and walking off. Giles noted the wilted flowers she left behind, and he strode quickly to catch up with her. “I spoke with Miss Harkness,” he said.

Willow didn’t answer. She looked to the ground but kept her pace.

“The seers haven’t seen anything in Sunnydale. Not yet. So either, what you saw was in your imagination…”

“I’m nuts,” Willow said.

“...or your powers are even greater than those of the coven’s seers.”

“I can’t tell the future,” Willow said, “Whatever it was—it’s right now. Deep, deep in the Earth. Getting ready to bubble to the surface.”

They walked in silence for a bit, “Do you miss it? Sunnydale?”

“No,” Willow said, “I mean, I miss the old days. And the gang. Buffy, and Xander. And…” She felt it bubble to the surface, her own darkness, and she took a calming breath, “Well, there’s nothing left for me there.”

“Your friends are still there,” said Giles.

“They’re not my friends anymore. How could they be?”

“They still care about you.”

“They shouldn’t,” said Willow, “You shouldn’t. Not after what I did to you.”

“We aren’t going to abandon you just because of your darkness,” said Giles, “Look at all the darkness Sunnydale has in it. You could have left, it wasn’t your destiny like it was Buffy’s. You could have gone to college anywhere in the world, right here in England. Everything that happened in the next few years, when Buffy died, you could have left. But you stayed.”

“Because that’s where I had power.” Nostalgic images of Sunnydale made their ways into her mind, the Bronze and the Espresso Pump, the college and Buffy’s home.

“No. You stayed because of the good in it. And because you could _do_ good in it. It’s where you met your dearest friends. It’s where you met…—”

With no warning, Willow’s vision turned black again. She felt herself fall and braced for a collision with the ground. But it never came, and those teeth were back. She was swept away in a sea of evil, agony behind her eyes. It was stronger this time, much stronger. Shadows moved in the darkness—how could there be shadows if there was no light? Something told her they were demons, that whisper again. And it was that whisper that pulled her back into reality, and she opened her eyes with a terrified gasp.

“Just breath,” she heard, and she did, her eyes staring dazedly ahead of her.

“Giles?” she gasped, “I… I can’t. Oh, Goddess…” He rubbed her shoulders, and she realized she was in his arms.

“Just breath.”

“What happened?”

“What do you remember?” Giles asked as Willow moved from his support to sit on her own.

“We were talking and I felt…” She lifted her hands from the ground, fearful, “I felt the Earth. It’s all connected, it is, but it’s not all pure and rootsy. There’s deep, deep black. There’s… I saw the Earth, Giles. I saw its teeth.”

“The Hellmouth.”

“It’s gonna open. It’s gonna swallow us all.”

“You felt that?”

“Just by…” Willow tried to catch her breath, “I didn’t even need to touch something. The connection is already there. Just thinking about Sunnydale… I could feel it, Giles. All of it. It’s bad. It’s dark. And I don’t think it’s something Buffy can stop.”

* * *

The rest of the day passed without another incident, but Willow felt unease in her chest through all of her lessons and all of her trainings. In fact, the darkness felt so near to her that she was surprised at her own control. To Miss Harkness and the coven, who seemed particularly impressed by her restraint today, she displayed the utmost discipline over her abilities. But Willow felt like she was going to snap at any moment, and the thing that frightened her the most was that the snap never seemed to come. She felt like she was watching a horror movie, waiting for a serial killer to jump out of the shadows.

She thought that Miss Harkness might mention what Giles had told her about her blackouts, her visions, but her teacher seemed adamant that Willow focus on the “here and now” and not on Sunnydale or on the past, so she didn’t bring it up. It made Willow feel frustrated—she’d felt so much darkness—she’d felt like she was losing it. Why didn’t anybody care?

Even Giles’ concern felt disproportionately shallow to Willow. He seemed, to her, far more worried about whatever the danger was that she’d felt than about whether it might bring her own darkness to the surface again.

Now, in the late afternoon, she was on his couch with a cup of tea, a kind Giles always insisted would calm her through only the power of leaves and no magick at all. She wasn’t sure if it actually worked, but her trust in Giles meant the tea really did make her feel better. Maybe it was a placebo, or maybe it was the mellow Englishness of it all, but the cup in her hands warmed her body and each sip helped to wrap her distressed thoughts in a far-away fuzz.

Tea with Giles had become a staple of her time with the coven. In the beginning, when she was erratic and confused, the tea was some sort of homebase, a reset button. Something so removed from Sunnydale, where she was so often jittery with the Espresso Pump’s caffeine in her veins, and yet that still reminded her Giles was close. When the witches would bind her, and she would shudder in disoriented pain, left to panic in her room alone, Giles still would bring her the tea still, and sit with her until Miss Harkness deemed her safe to free.

So the ritual of the tea remained, even when days were good and Willow babbled about all she’d learned at her lessons. But today she let her tea go untouched. It sat in her hands even as the steam started to dissipate and the drink turned cold, and even as Giles finished his own.

“Aren’t you going to drink?” Giles asked, “It will calm you.”

“I feel like…” Willow shifted the cup in her hands, “I don’t think I should be calm. I feel like if I get calm, if I stop thinking about holding it in, it’s gonna come out.”

Giles cocked his head at her.

“The magicks. Not… no bodily fluids, okay?”

“Willow, I know that what happened earlier and last night frightened you,” Giles said, “But the coven and I all think that you are doing wonderfully, better than expected. What you sensed—that wasn’t your darkness, we don’t think. It was Sunnydale’s. You may not feel like you have control, but you do. We can all see it. We see how hard you are working, too.”

“But what about—?”

“—the flowers?” Giles guessed.

“Oh. You saw that?” Willow bit her lip guiltily.

“Everyone makes mistakes.” Giles said, “Willow, I know this is hard to hear. But you may never have full, one-hundred percent control over your powers at every moment of every day. But it’s far better for you to make harmless mistakes like that than to send lightning from the heavens to smite the garden. That’s how you learn.”

“Harmless mistakes turn into way not-harmless mistakes. They turn into bad, evil, naughty mistakes.” Willow said. “Trust me, I know.”

“You’re trying. You’re not giving in. That’s what matters. You are doing far better than you think you are, Willow.”

“They’re still afraid of me.”

Even now that she had learned to mostly restrain her powers, she could feel the alertness rise in the witches when she entered a room. The looks, the whispers—they made her feel like she was back in high school. There was a silence, and Willow finally took a small sip of tea.

“Now,” Giles cleared his throat and pulled out one of his endless dusty ancient books, “I was wondering if you could tell me anything else about your, erm, episode earlier.”

Willow pouted, “‘Episode’? Goddess, it’s not gonna keep happening, is it? Episode implies a series. I don’t think I can get through one season of that. I barely got through the pilot.”

“I don’t think there’s a way we can know right now. It seems to be that whatever is happening on the Hellmouth, when you focus on it, it overwhelms your senses. You unconsciously grasped that connection when you held the crystal, and then again when we discussed Sunnydale.”

Willow winced at the name of her home, afraid that the mere thought of it would send her back into her mind’s hell-place.

“We don’t know what precisely is going to happen. Or when, how long we have…” said Giles, “Are you certain it wasn’t just the darkness inherent in the Hellmouth that you sensed?”

“Giles,” said Willow, “I lived in Sunnydale for twenty-two years. I lived there as a normal kid and I lived there as an all-powerful witch. This is something way darker, way scarier than I’ve ever felt.”

“Hmm,” Giles cleaned his glasses, as he often did when he was confounded, “If only we had some—”

And then the phone rang. It made Willow jump and she spilled her tea a bit, instinctively evaporating the fallen droplets into the air before they could touch her trousers. She cursed inwardly at herself for that. Using magick again, as though without a thought.

If Giles noticed, he didn’t show it, and instead went for the phone. “Hello? Oh, Buffy— hold on, calm down.” He glanced at Willow, “One moment, I’m going to take the call in the other room.”

Willow frowned and placed her tea down on the table. She did speak with Buffy on the phone sometimes, but it was always about little things, casual, small talk, like they hadn’t recently tried to kill each other. She knew that Giles talked with Buffy and the others in Sunnydale often about more serious matters—about her, she assumed, and as Giles left the phone off the hook and picked up the receiver in the bedroom, she felt like secrets were being kept from her.

“You’re certain?” she overheard Giles say, and then he lowered his voice. Willow eyed the receiver that Giles had left and wondered if it would be all that bad if she eavesdropped. She knew it would be morally wrong, though, and even without her magicks doing it would feed her darkness. So she sat back with a huff.

“It’s Willow,” Giles muttered, his whisper panicked enough that his voice rose to an audible level, “...No, no. She’s fine. But she had… a vision of sorts. She seems to think something is rising in Sunnydale. She said the Hellmouth is opening. What you’ve told me, it’s all but confirmation—... I know... ...I think you’re right. Will you be…—? …Yes, I know… …I’ll talk to her.”

The one-sided conversation only added to Willow’s stress, and she rocked nervously in her seat when Giles hung up the phone and returned to the sitting room to join her.

“How’s Buffy?” Willow asked when Giles didn’t say anything.

“Hm? Oh. She’s fine.” He grabbed his hat and made for the door, “Willow, why don’t you go train? I’m, um… I must go speak with Miss Harkness.”

Willow wanted to shout at him for so clearly keeping something from her, but she supposed she’d lost the right to be in the loop three months ago. Giles shut the door behind him, and Willow was left pouting on the couch.

Giles had told her to train, but the thought of using her powers made her stomach turn. So instead she waited until Giles was certainly gone and then she left herself, walking briskly across the grass as the sun began to set.

She wasn’t sure where she was going, so she took off her shoes as though the Earth might tell her. The night was peaceful. The grass that seemed to breath between her toes felt nothing like the terror and chaos that she still felt remnants of in Sunnydale.

Her feet took her to the stables. She put her shoes back on and entered (for fear of stepping in something icky), picking up a brush and stroking one of the horses.

“Tara loved animals,” Willow said, though the horse couldn’t understand her. “I don’t know, my fish got killed a few years ago. And then Miss Kitty. Maybe I’m not supposed to have pets.”

The horse made a horse-sound and bowed its head as if in mourning.

“Aww.” She pressed her lips together, “You must be cooped up. I get why I’m in a cage sometimes…” She fiddled with her bracelet, the one that the witches had once used to help bind her, “…But not you. Wanna go for a walk?”

She unlatched the gate and led the horse into the stable, and then out onto the grass. His head was still bowed, so she took it as an invitation. She awkwardly climbed onto his back and settled herself astride. He was white and brown, Giles’ favorite of the steeds, a combination of dark and light. She held his reins delicately, like the animal was made of porcelain. But she felt no danger that her power might escape, now. As the horse trotted confidently across the pasture, Willow had no fear that she may accidentally smite him if he bucked or destroy him if he didn’t obey her commands. And her inexperience with riding didn’t deter her, either. It felt natural. She kicked her shoes off again and they fell forgotten somewhere in the grass where she might never find them. She idly considered that riding a horse barefoot wasn’t the safest thing to do, but it felt necessary to her that she could feel the horse’s energy and the Earth’s with her toes against his smooth side.

The wind in her face tasted so clean, and she could feel the horse’s contentment. The sun had set, and the fireflies had come out, and each time one of the bugs lit up something sparked in her brain and filled her with an electric excitement.

She could sense rabbits going to sleep and spiders spinning webs. Her head swam with wonder and her veins throbbed with energy. She could see, as if in slow-motion, a summer mosquito make its way to bite her. She held her hand up at it. She didn’t cast, she was sure of it, but as if in understanding it spun around and went on its merry way.

She took a path into the woods and the old trees made her own twenty-two years seem longer somehow. She could feel the trees’ roots connect, like they were holding hands. The crickets chirped in a glorious symphony that rang beautifully in her ears, accompanied by the owls and the wind. She could sense the plants; her fingers itched as she noted the poison ivy along the path, and her mouth tasted like the berries growing on the bushes. She was so tuned into the Earth that the small mushrooms growing underneath the shade of the trees brought mild hallucinations to her eyes merely by her proximity to them. The whispers in her mind were louder, clearer than ever before, and they felt like love. It was ecstasy, the power of the Earth running through her, the calm of a peaceful night that she never knew in the demon-infested Sunnydale. It felt invigorating. It felt magickal.

She shook her head, stopping her horse abruptly. No, this feeling wasn’t right. It was too similar to how she’d felt when she’d gone to Rack. Was she using her magicks? By accident? Had she snapped, given in without even realizing? She licked her dry lips. She could taste the berries, the fruits of the forest. _You taste like strawberries_ , she recalled in Rack’s ugly voice, though there were no strawberries in this wood. She hopped off the horse and doubled over once her bare feet hit the ground, overwhelmed by the strength of her connection as the sounds of insects and the wind buzzed annoyingly in her ears. She stumbled in a direction, dazedly but confidently, the horse following her. She took herself to a stream, which though she’d never seen it before she’d known exactly where it was.

She hovered her face over the moonlit water, eyes shut for fear of what she might see when she opened them. She expected darkness to stare back at her, black eyes proving that the wondrous freedom she’d felt that night was a trick played on her by her own dark power. But her eyes were green. Confused and strangely vacant, but green. She knelt down and dipped her fingers in the water, quickly removing them when she felt the roar of a waterfall the stream connected to somewhere miles away. She breathed, and then submerged her hands again, sensing this time instead the calmness of the water before her and the fragile life-forces of the fish.

She scooped up some water and splashed it on her face. The wonder of the night had worn off, her connection wandering, unfocused. Had that all been the Earth? Was the Earth that beautiful? She felt dirty in comparison.

She got back on the horse, who waited patiently by the stream, and began riding slowly back the way she came. Riding was harder now; she was no longer so in-tune with the creature, and eventually she dismounted again and simply walked on aching, muddy feet instead because of it. She hadn’t been paying attention when she was on her journey, so she tried to tap into her connection to find her way home. It was faint, now, that strand of the Earth having fallen temporarily from her grasp and her skills not honed enough to retrieve it, but eventually she made it back to the stables and locked the horse up with a quiet “thank you”.

She trudged back to her home at the coven, wishing now that she hadn’t lost her shoes as each step sent a migraine-inducing cacophony of stimuli to her senses. When she got to the dormitory, relieved to finally shut out the Earth, she climbed the rickety stairs and arrived at her room fully intent on collapsing directly into her bed and falling asleep.

But as soon as she pushed open the door, she knew that wasn’t about to happen. For sitting at the edge of her bed was Giles, his face grave, concerned, half-investigating and half-fiddling nervously with the Doll’s Eye Crystal that Willow had left at his cabin the night before.


	4. Burns and Blisters

Willow slowed her pace, steadied herself, when she saw Giles in her room. She felt like she’d been caught—but she hadn’t done anything wrong this time. Had she?

“Where have you been?” Giles asked, like a father, and it occurred to Willow how rarely she’d heard the question from her own parents, even after late nights at the Bronze or slaying with Buffy.

“Out.” Willow didn’t mean to bark, but she wanted to sleep.

“Do you have any idea what time it is?”

Willow opened her mouth to answer him, or to declare that she wasn’t a kid and shouldn’t be treated like one, but instead she tried pathetically to count the minutes in her head. She’d left Giles’ around six o’ clock—certainly she had only been gone a couple of hours. Right?

She glanced at the clock on the wall. She had to crane her neck to see it, and she was sure Giles noticed. It read nearly two in the morning.

“What happened to your feet?” said Giles.

Willow looked down at her toes, which were covered in dirt and blisters, “Miss Harkness says not to wear shoes.”

“Not all the time. You don’t have to hurt yourself, Willow.” He frowned, softening, “You should sit down.”

He moved over on the bed so that she could sit beside him, but she chose instead to sit on a plain wooden chair at her desk. “So I was out. Who cares?”

“I care. I was worried.”

“Worried about me? Or worried about what I’ll do without your supervision.” That second part wasn’t a question.

“I just didn’t know where you were.”

Willow looked down, a little bit with shame and a little more with fear. “Did you tell the witches?”

“That you were out?” Giles asked, “No. But if you hadn’t returned by morning I would have.”

“You trust me too much.” She felt inexplicably combative, fighting Giles’ words no matter how contradictory she became, “Do you know how much damage I could do in a night?” She grit her teeth, suddenly guilty, “Were you just waiting here for me? The whole time?”

“I wanted to talk to you. So, when you weren’t here, I waited for you—I didn’t realize how long you would be. Then I was too worried to go to sleep.”

“Sorry.” At Giles’ frustrated sigh, she wondered defensively what it was he'd come to speak to hear about in the first place, “What did I do this time, Giles? I promise, tonight I didn’t do anything bad. At least, I don’t think… You said yourself, I’m trying. Right?”

“Willow, I didn’t come here to scold you. What I said earlier still stands.” There was a hesitation so long that Willow thought Giles wouldn’t continue. “Willow, it’s time for you to go.”

“Go where? I already did my training today.”

“Go home, Willow.” His tone was painfully resolute.

“I am home. I mean… this is my room. Isn’t it?”

“You know what I mean.”

“No,” Willow said, stubborn denial in her voice, “I don’t.”

“You need to go back to Sunnydale.”

“Why, Giles? I thought… I thought I could live here with the Coven for… I mean, not forever. Just until… for a few years. ‘Cause they can protect me. I mean, you know, protect everyone from me. And I have you, and tea, and the nature and stuff. Why would I go back there?”

“You felt it yourself. There is a great evil rising in Sunnydale and you will be needed to help stop it.”

“But I am a great evil!” said Willow, “Giles, I’m not ready. There’s no way I’m ready. It’s only been three months.”

“There will always be more for you to learn, Willow,” Giles said, “But you have the resources you need. When Buffy called earlier, she told me...” Giles looked down at the crystal in his hands, “Whatever it is you saw—we have less time than we thought. Chasms, portals, are opening all over town. It’s happening now.”

“Giles, no. I can’t go, I can’t leave. I’m the baby bird.”

“Pardon?”

“The bird. That fell from the nest? He tried to fly too early, and then he got hurt. Except, for me, everyone else will get hurt. I’m scared, Giles.”

“You are the one what saved that bird. You have control now.”

“I don’t feel like I have control,” said Willow, “Every minute, I have to catch myself. It’s just, there’s these whispers in my head. ‘Cause I’m also nuts on top of everything! And the whispers are the only thing… I’ve lasted this long but, I don’t know, if I let my mind slip, or my hand, or if I get a little angry… it could all be for nothing. That’s how it feels, anyway.”

“You can keep up your training in Sunnydale,” said Giles, “I know you’ll always be exercising your mind. Buffy can help you keep in shape physically, and being around your friends will help you keep your emotions in check. You have things to calm you down, too, just for emergencies.”

“But no one there can bind my powers. No one is strong enough. It takes, like, four witches here!”

“You won’t need to bind your powers. Trust me, Willow. Everyone knows what to look for if you do start slipping. No one will let you get that way again. I will be in constant contact.”

“Wait, contact?” Panic filled her gaze, “Giles, you aren’t coming back with me?”

“No, Willow.”

“Why? Giles, I can’t… I need you.”

“Being around me is just feeding your guilt. It’s not healthy.”

“But… we need you. The whole gang. With the big evil.”

“I doubt I can help the situation much,”

“But Giles, you saw what happened when you left last time.”

“I shouldn’t be around all of that,” Giles said, “Since I…—”

Willow looked up, eyes foggy with horror, “It’s because of what I did?”

“No, Willow—”

“You are afraid you won’t be able to help. Because I took your power.”

“You didn’t—”

“I’m not stupid, Giles. I can feel it. I know you and the witches tried not to tell me. I can feel that you have no magick inside you. And I can see it in your eyes, that you’ve lost something.”

“I’m okay, Willow. It’s okay, I forgive you.”

“No,” Willow said, fists clenched and shaking, “I can’t imagine… if I’d had my powers taken from me… I mean, you told me how it would feel. But it’s more than that. To have something like that stripped away…”

“I’m not a warlock,” Giles said, “I’ve dabbled, but me losing my power is not the same as if you had lost yours. For me it’s like… losing a hand. For you… It would destroy you.”

“So I cut off your hand.”

“I still have two left. I don’t need magic. It was a tool for me. It wasn’t a part of me.”

“When I did that to you, I don’t think I meant to take it all. I mean, I wanted to take the coven’s power, the borrowed stuff. But it was such a rush. I think I knew you might die, after what happened with Rack. But I didn’t care. I couldn’t stop, all I wanted was more power.”

“I know,” Giles said, “You weren’t in your right mind.”

“I think my mind is just wrong.” Willow sighed, “Look, Giles. You saw what just feeling the darkness in Sunnydale did to me. What do you think will happen when I’m actually there?”

Giles seemed to consider this for a moment, “You are from Sunnydale, your power comes from Sunnydale, perhaps that’s why it’s always reaching out. I’m not a part of that journey. You should do this alone.”

“And by ‘alone’ you mean, with Buffy and Xander and Dawn and just without you?”

“Willow, I’m just a reminder for you. The witches, they think it only makes it harder for you... to control your powers, to move past your grief, everything. With me around.”

“Can’t they do it without me? Buffy and them?”

“Willow, you said yourself—”

“I know what I said. Can’t they send another witch?”

“You’re the only one with the power—”

“Yeah, yeah. Everyone keeps saying how powerful I am. You sure make it hard to stay humble, y’know?”

“Then you know you are the only one—”

The anger was rising in Willow’s chest, in her fingers, “I’m not going.”

“Willow…”

“Giles, I’m not going unless you come with me.”

Giles furrowed his eyebrows at that, “Willow, if something did happen to you… There’s nothing I could do to stop you.”

“I don’t care! I need you, Giles.”

“Willow, you don’t own me.”

“And you don’t own me. You can’t make me go back.”

“You’re right. You are needed, but the choice is yours. I won’t force you.”

Willow growled in frustration. The need to save the world had become its own sort of pull, an addiction after six years. He knew she would go back. “Giles, please…!”

“No, Willow.”

At some point, she’d stood up, and now she let her legs collapse underneath her and she pulled herself upright by gripping desperately at his arms, “Giles, don’t do this to me. I can’t… people are gonna get hurt.” She hadn’t meant it to sound like a threat.

Her eyes were crazed, lack of sleep after the terror of the night before combined with the horrific images she’d been twice subjected to and the dizzying and exhausting journey she’d just taken through the woods probably made it all worse, on top of her own inherent irrationality. Giles said nothing.

Willow let something slip, then, and the light in the room flickered violently. “Giles, look. I don’t have control. Please.”

“Willow, are you doing that on purpose so that it looks like you can’t control yourself and I won’t let you leave?”

“No!” Willow said, “You saw it today! It happens all the time. With the flower. And the tea! You can’t make me go alone.”

“My mind is made up, Willow. I’m not going back to Sunnydale. Not now”

Willow grasped his arms tighter, then, and suddenly he screamed and pushed her violently away.

She was confused at the reaction—and then she saw his shirt.  _ Your shirt _ . The fabric was scorched on his shoulders where she’d had her hands. She looked at them, her hands that were smoking at their fingertips. She felt them buzz.

Giles stood. “This is why,” he said gruffly, “you need to be apart from me.”

Willow continued to stare at her hands, feeling deja vu. This was just like with Tara, trying to force her to stay. Goddess, when did she get so clingy? Giles was right, she couldn’t keep hurting him. _You have to go_ , something inside her mind told her. _Save the world, Willow._

She didn’t say anything, but as Giles left they both knew that Willow was going to return to Sunnydale. Alone.


End file.
